


All in the Waiting

by austenfan1990



Series: The Sea Captain and the Governess [4]
Category: The Sound of Music - Rodgers/Hammerstein/Lindsay & Crouse
Genre: Alternate Universe, Developing Relationship, Don't copy to another site, Established Relationship, Evolving Tags, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-20
Updated: 2020-07-23
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:08:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24283363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/austenfan1990/pseuds/austenfan1990
Summary: Following the First World War, a widowed Georg von Trapp endeavours to start anew with his two young children. But eight years after their last meeting,shecomes back into his life.APersuasioninspiredSound of MusicAU. Rating may change in future.
Relationships: Georg von Trapp/Maria von Trapp
Series: The Sea Captain and the Governess [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1811752
Comments: 10
Kudos: 18





	1. Aigen, 1921

**Author's Note:**

> Well, here goes my first attempt at writing a multi-chaptered SOM fic. I was inspired by Jane Austen's _Persuasion _(which seemed only natural as it also features a sea captain!) and I'm hoping to write more (and longer) chapters soon.__

_But the faith and the love and the hope are all in the waiting._  
_Wait without thought, for you are not ready for thought:_  
_So the darkness shall be the light, and the stillness the dancing._

T. S. Eliot - “East Coker”

*

It was a homecoming Georg never wanted to remember. The war had thrown his world completely out of joint; he had gone into it a newly wedded husband and came out a decorated captain but with no country, vocation, or wife to speak of. The telegram calling him home had arrived too late. By the time he returned to Zell am See, Liesl and Friedrich had already been motherless for two hours. Losing the war had been nothing compared to never getting to say goodbye to Agathe. 

That had been three years ago. Austria however – for that was what it was called now, no longer a sprawling Austro-Hungarian empire – was slowly moving on, no matter how much he resists. Agathe had made sure he and their children had wanted for nothing, but the feeling of emptiness nevertheless remains.

Desperate to get away from the sadness of Zell am See, Georg moves them all to Aigen, just outside of Salzburg, and the packing dust has barely settled when he throws himself into Liesl and Friedrich’s education. But the schoolroom, of all things, defeats him. The pain and the absence of their mother is much too raw. During the teary drive to their boarding school, he promises that once he got back on his feet, they would all be together at Aigen again. 

The sudden emptiness of the new house only compounds his sorrow. In his darkest and most despairing of moods, Georg allows himself to recall another love lost, one before Agathe, one even before the war. She was rich in everything but fortune, but that mattered little to him. Very little mattered then, except her love. 

But the church had taken her away, persuaded her to spend her days in its sheltered confines when all he could offer her was an unpredictable life at sea. It had been a terrible blow and for a split second at their fraught last meeting, he was certain that it wasn’t entirely Maria’s decision to be a nun. She had railed at that, her pride – and his short temper – leaping to the fore. They parted bitterly, though he had looked back at the last minute, catching a final glimpse of her proud, gold head. She did not.

And now he is alone once again, save for the company of his friend Max who is having a new lease of life in Vienna. Max had been a hopeless sailor, but his ear for music seemed to be doing him wonders. Letter after letter comes filled with his finding new acts for the burgeoning music scene and although Georg can hardly make head or tail of them, he is grateful for the distraction.

‘Why don’t you come over to Vienna, Georg?’ Max says over the telephone one evening. ‘I could do with your advice.’

Georg resists the urge to scoff over the line. ‘What advice? You’re the musical one.’

‘Come now, no modesty between friends. You were pretty good with a guitar, if I recall. Among other things.’

There is a heavy pause. ‘That was a very long time ago, Max.’

‘Or you can keep me company, at the very least,’ continues his friend. ‘Show business can get a little giddy – for want of a better word – and I fear your particular blend of stoicness is in short supply.’

‘But the children –’

‘Are at boarding school, poor dears.’ Max sighs audibly. ‘But I’m sure Franz and Frau Schmidt can hold the castle for a little while, in case anything should happen. Tell you what, I’ll put you up at my flat. How’s that for an enticement?’

‘Hardly,’ smiles Georg, despite himself. ‘In that case, I’d rather put myself up in a hotel.’

He hears a triumphant shout down the line. ‘I knew you’d come around!’


	2. Chapter 2

Her window is stuck again, but with a light huff and one final push, Maria manages to get it open. The crisp, cold air bites at her cheeks as she leans on the windowsill, but nothing could ever stop her from watching the sunrise. It has always been her favourite time of day, bringing with it the thrill of watching everything come to life, just before the dullness of daily routine set everything into place. 

Bells peal somewhere in the distance; a constant musical accompaniment everywhere she goes. If not church bells calling her to Vespers, then those of the schoolroom and everything that entails. 

Her eyes fall to the courtyard below and the chorus of bells recedes. Whatever the Mother Abbess had envisioned, Maria sometimes wonders if she has simply traded one institution for another. And in the same train of thought, she chides herself for being unjust, possibly even unchristian. For it was under her guidance that Maria is where she is now, in a situation far better than any she expects to deserve.

It is perhaps some consolation that she can sing and whistle as much as she likes, down the hallways, in the classroom and her modest room here in the teacher’s quarters. The memory of her arrival here four years ago, only with a single carpetbag and guitar to her name, is forever fresh in her mind. The war was still raging then and with so many of the men being sent to the front, they had taken her on despite her initial trepidation. 

She was one of the lucky ones; many of her classmates from teaching college had been unable to find employment. Many more were forced to give up hopes of an independent life and settled for marriage instead, some happily, others unhappily. When the war ended, Maria feared that she was to be sent packing, inevitably replaced by a man who was deemed more capable merely on account of his sex. 

But that day never came. She had apparently impressed enough at the top to keep her on, though that did not stop them from assigning her an assistant, a young man fresh out of university, Stefan Radetsky. Fortunately, she and Stefan have so far made a harmonious, if not unconventional, team, for he is more forward-thinking than his contemporaries, many of whom chafe at the idea of working under a woman.

There is a hesitant knock at her door. ‘Are you up, Fräulein Rainer?’

‘Just a moment!’

Throwing on her dressing gown, she answers it. A tall moustached man, bearing a tray of tea and hot rolls, smiles sheepishly back at her.

‘Stefan?’ she says in surprise. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘Frau Brün had another asthma attack just now. She asked if I could bring up your tray.’

‘Goodness, is she all right?’

‘Yes, yes, she’s taken her usual medication and it’s subsiding. She needed to have a little rest, that’s all.’ His eyes dart awkwardly between her and the tray. ‘May I come in?’

‘Oh yes, of course!’ she says, stepping aside. ‘Thank you, Stefan. You really didn’t have to though, I could have gone down to the kitchen myself.’

‘Not at all,’ he says, setting it down on her small writing desk. As he straightens up, Maria realises he has already donned his teacher’s gown.

‘It’s rather early for that, don’t you think?’ At his puzzled look, she gestures at him. ‘It’s only past seven.’

She sees him trying not to laugh as she pours herself a cup of tea.

‘Now, what's so funny?’

‘Oh, nothing. I just hope you haven’t forgotten we’re supposed to be meeting our new pupils at half past,’ he explains gingerly. ‘Either that, or I’ve set my watch an hour early.’

The teapot comes down with a crash; it is a miracle she doesn’t upend the tray. How can she have forgotten? It is the first of October, the beginning of term!

‘Excuse me, Stefan,’ she says, hastily bundling him out of the room. ‘I’m sure you understand a lady requires some privacy to dress!’

* * *

Maria never enjoyed the formality of such proceedings. Sitting bolt upright upon hard wooden chairs had never been her forte, even at the abbey. _There_ , at least, had been the comfort of music and tender company. Here no such respite was forthcoming. She sighs quietly, glancing every so often at the headmaster, Herr Schneider, who has been holding forth for the past quarter of an hour. He is a decent, intelligent man, but his impassivity when he was supposed to be welcoming is both exhausting and exasperating. She looks ahead, scanning the sea of young, somewhat frightened faces before them. Many of these children had never been away from home before and the last thing they needed was a man in black droning on at them. 

Indeterminable moments pass and the assembly finally draws to an end. The hall begins to clear, shuffling footsteps echoing across the dark panelled walls. Maria takes this as a cue, quickly making her way to the doors, eager to greet as many pupils as she can. Her colleagues file past, their expressions varying from stony to mildly amused. She had nearly caused a scandal when she had first done it four years ago, but she had argued that children – especially the younger ones – needed to see at least one friendly face before starting their first day. “We are a school, not a prison, Herr Schneider,” she had said firmly and although Herr Schneider had gone very red in the face, he acceded there was some merit in the practice.

‘We’ll see you in the classroom, Fräulein Rainer,’ says Stefan, guiding a group of lost-looking boys up the stairs. Nodding her thanks, she continues to return the shy smiles directed at her, only interrupted when the braver children step up and introduce themselves.

Eventually, the room is empty, save two small figures – a boy and a girl – in the centre of it.

‘Hello,’ she says softly. Enveloped in their world of misery, they do not hear her. Drawing nearer, she pauses when she hears the distinct sound of muffled sniffling.

Maria could swear the children coming here were getting younger every year. The two in front of her look barely older than five. The girl, dark-haired, alert and presumably the elder of them, is trying her best to comfort her companion. 

‘Come on, Friedrich,’ she whispers. ‘We have to go now.’

He shakes his blond head. ‘But I don’t want to. Not if I can’t be in the same class as you.’

‘Hello,’ repeats Maria, kneeling so that she is at eye level with them. Two pairs of blue eyes shoot upwards. The boy’s are filled with tears, but it is the girl’s which strike Maria most. So intense and mature in a face so young… and which are now fixed upon hers with the slightest hint of suspicion.

‘Who are you?’ demands the girl. 

‘I’m Fräulein Maria. I teach music here. Is Friedrich your brother?’

‘Yes, he is,’ comes the defensive reply. ‘My younger brother.’

Friedrich murmurs something into his sister’s shoulder, which Maria can’t quite catch.

‘What was that?’

The girl’s face creases with uncertainty, giving Maria another look-over. ‘Friedrich wants to know if we can take lessons together,’ she says eventually. ‘That’s why he’s crying, because he thinks we can’t.’

‘Whyever not?’

‘Because I’m seven and he’s five.’

In relief, Maria very nearly blurts out “is that all?” but thinks the better of it. Instead she says: ‘But of course, you can! Did someone say you couldn’t?’

‘No. But they might, won’t they?’

‘Well,’ smiles Maria, ‘I’ll make certain you get taught together, not only in my class, but in others, too.’

‘Really?’ said Friedrich, a smile of his own breaking at last on his little face. ‘Liesl, did you hear that?’ 

But Liesl is no longer looking at her brother, but staring at someone behind Maria. It is Herr Schneider.

‘So, Fräulein, I see you’ve met your newest charges.’ Maria winces. It wasn’t so much what he said, but the matter-of-fact way in which he said it. ‘These are the children of Captain –’

‘Forgive me, Herr Schneider,’ she interrupts smoothly, ‘but I would appreciate you not calling any of the children “my charges” simply because I am the only female teacher at this school.’

‘My apologies, I meant no offence,’ he coughs, taking out his pocket watch. ‘I only returned to remind you that lessons begin in five minutes. I’m sure Herr Radetsky and the other children are waiting for you.’

‘Thank you, Headmaster.’

As soon as he walks away, Liesl murmurs: ‘Do we have to see him every day?’

Maria laughs. ‘No, not every day.’

Friedrich steps closer to her, his confidence increasing. ‘And you, Fräulein Maria? Can we see _you_ every day?’

‘Well, it depends,’ she says, looking at them intently. ‘I’m afraid you can’t escape your weekly music lessons, but would you _like_ to see me so often?’

They don’t hesitate. ‘Yes.’


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Historical accuracy, alas, continues to be half-thrown out of the window for this fic, I'm afraid. But then again, this is an AU, so I regret nothing. 
> 
> Thank you to everyone who has read and enjoyed this so far! :)

_A mild, almost balmy October morning and the windows have been flung open to take full advantage of the fresh Adriatic breeze. Two officers are seated on opposite sides of a desk. The senior of them pours out a cup of (much too hot) coffee. The scent wafts through, picked up by both occupants of the room. The younger man is offered a cup which he politely declines._

_The captain returns to the documents he has been perusing, occasionally glancing up at the man before him and then down to the photograph stuck on the cover. Really it did the lieutenant no justice; the fine dark looks were captured, yes, but the intensity of those hard blue eyes? He’d have an entire crew under his thumb in no time. His service record is equally impressive. Top marks in everything – even the guitar. Yes, he has the makings of an excellent commander, but there is something else troubling him._

_His pen comes to rest at the top of the page. ‘Are you married, Lieutenant von Trapp?’_

_Georg blinks, his surprise apparent at this line of inquiry._

_‘No, sir.’_

_‘Engaged?’_

_‘No, sir.’ This time the answer is tinged with bitterness. But there is no trace of it when he follows it up with a quick, quizzical ‘Should I be, Captain?’_

_The captain laughs. ‘Not unless you find someone with nerves of steel, enduring fellows like us and the lives we lead.’ The lieutenant’s face, if possible, darkens further still._

_‘I see here you’ve applied for transfer no less than three times in the past six months,’ continues the captain, tapping the page. ‘May I ask why? I don’t wish to pry but I’d like to know your reasons for it.’_

_At this Georg smiles. His interviewer notes, however, that it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. ‘Well, I’ve always been fascinated by submarines.’_

_‘Ah, I see.’ An approving nod. ‘Is that all?_

_‘All, sir?’_

_The captain shifts in his chair. In his experience, there were two main reasons why a man would be so desperate for a transfer: a blind, foolish quest to prove himself or – which he was beginning to suspect – to escape a broken heart. But he decides not to meddle, for he has done so before with limited effect, and settles on another tack._

_‘I’ll be frank, Lieutenant. Men like you are desperately needed for submarine duty, even more so with war on the horizon. But it’s dangerous, possibly more so than any other branch of naval warfare. When things go wrong, they can be catastrophic. You’ll be better paid, of course, but...’_

_‘This has nothing to do with money, sir,’ interjects Georg bluntly, more brusquely than intended. The captain stares back at him._ _Georg closes his eyes, wearily. ‘Forgive me, sir, I spoke out of turn. The truth is I want to stretch my wings a little before it’s too late.’_

_‘If you say so, Lieutenant.’ The captain’s expression grows sober. ‘I only wanted to let you know what you’re getting yourself into, if you’re sure you want to go through with this.’_

_‘Yes.’ Ever since he’d seen the call go out, he’d spent every waking minute thinking about it. It was like a madness, gnawing at him. ‘I’m sure, Captain. I want to volunteer.’_

_The captain scrutinises him one last time before signing him off. He finally takes a sip of his coffee, now cool enough to drink. ‘Very well, you’re approved.’_

* * *

Georg flings an arm over his tousled head. His hand knocks against the hard, wooden armrest of the couch. The sound and the growing ache in his knuckles force his eyes open. The sight of the large bed in his hotel room greets him first: unslept in, untouched since his arrival, glaring back at him like an enormous question mark. 

Like so many things, he ignores it. Like so many things, few could understand the changes war brought about in a man. Not long after he’d been demobbed, Frau Schmidt had been alarmed to find him asleep on a pile of blankets on the floor. After much pleading to take better care of himself, he took to sleeping on a couch as a compromise. Try as he might, Georg couldn’t explain it, only that beds no longer agreed with him and that a simple, spartan cot gave him more comfort than any four-poster bed ever could.

He rolls over, but getting back to sleep is impossible. Probably he’s overslept as it is and a single glance at his wristwatch confirms it. Sighing, he sits up. The room lurches painfully and his eye falls upon his medals gleaming in the half-light, perched precariously atop his dinner jacket in the yawning jaws of his open suitcase. At once, memories of last night’s formal soirée, one that Max had practically dragged him to, come to the fore. 

_Ah, Vienna._ It takes him a second to realise he’s said it out loud. 

Two weeks in, he is beginning to doubt the wisdom of coming here. It had never been his city, he had never taken it to his heart and it, accordingly, had returned the favour. Oh, that was not to say there had been no attempt in that regard. Last night was representative of every gathering he’d been to so far: music was the apparent draw of the occasion, which quickly descended into hours of vapid, idle chatter, and crowned by a dozen or so strangers sidling up to him, drawn no doubt by his medals and his aristocratic name. Scratch those, they wouldn’t have batted an eyelid, not today and certainly not ten years ago. He’d been a lieutenant among hundreds. Now, he was a captain among hundreds.

He is, however, at least two cups of coffee and a plate of buttered rolls away from a proper grumble. And even before that, a shave and a bath are the first order of the day. Finally getting on his feet, he pauses by his suitcase on his way to the bathroom. It only takes a second to shove his medals deep inside.

* * *

Breakfast is postponed when he finds a note slid under his door. _“Emergency!!”_ is writ large in Max’s bombastic, flourishing hand. Would he be able to come over to the theatre at once? Characteristically, no reason is given, but Georg is in a taxi before he even knows he’s in one, the note stuffed into his coat pocket. 

He’s scarcely paid the driver and out of the car when another barrels past, barely missing him by an inch. From the safety of the pavement, Georg turns and glares after the errant vehicle, mentally taking note of the license plate. He is probably one to talk, self-proclaimed dangerous driver as he is, but he does have his limits. 

The theatre doorman rushes to his side. ‘Are you all right, Captain von Trapp? Damn scoundrel shouldn’t be behind the wheel of a car at all, the way he’s driving.’

‘Yes, I’m fine, thank you, Heinrich.’ Georg brushes his coat down with a wan smile. ‘No harm done.’ 

‘Thank God, sir.’ Heinrich guides him to the door. ‘Herr Detweiler is waiting for you inside.’ 

The warmth of the theatre envelops him at once. Crossing the length of the foyer, he nods at the cloakroom staff who peer at him cautiously from their desk. They’ve learned not to take his hat and coat, knowing that he prefers to hold on to them for reasons only known to himself. 

He finds Max in his small office above the stage, balancing a cup and saucer in one hand while trying to close the window with the other.

‘Ah, Georg, here you are at last! I was beginning to worry that the traffic had swallowed you up.’

‘Almost right, Max, I was occupied in the unenviable task of being nearly run over.’

Max pulls a face. ‘Oh dear, how very awkward.’

‘Don’t you ever come up with anything clever to say?’

‘At this hour of the morning? No. Besides – and although I may not look it – I am terribly, _terribly_ hungover.’ He takes a sip of his coffee, the bitter scent of hitting Georg’s nose. 

‘Can I get one of those? I haven’t had any breakfast.’

‘Why not?’

Georg brandishes the note in reply. ‘“Emergency”, hmm? What am I doing here?’

‘Patience, my friend, patience,’ says Max. The window thuds shut and they both grimace at the sound. ‘I’ll tell you all about it when we get to Café Weismann’s.’ He turns around. ‘Now, don’t look at me like that, Georg, I wasn’t sure you’d come over if I said to meet anywhere but the theatre. You have no idea how challenging it was getting you to that party last night.’

Georg slumps into Max’s chair with a sigh, his head pounding. ‘I’m getting too old following your games, Max.’

He gets a cheery pat on the shoulder. ‘Nonsense, that’s just the hangover talking.’ 

‘And _you’re_ the one footing the bill for breakfast this time.’

Max shrugs as he dons his hat and coat. ‘Very well. I have heard Weismann’s serves up a devilish Apfelstrudel, so it’ll be well worth the expense.’

* * *

‘I’m afraid Baroness Schraeder hasn’t yet arrived, Herr Detweiler,’ announces the head waiter. ‘But we already have a table reserved for you. This way, gentlemen.’

‘A table by the window, of course,’ observes Max as they take their seats. ‘Georg, why don’t you sit over there, the view is quite marvellous.’

There is no point beating about the bush. ‘Baroness Schraeder, Max? Is she a friend of yours?’

‘Don’t you remember, dear fellow? You’re going to be captaining her yacht.’

‘ _What?_ ’ His astonishment is loud enough to make several heads turn in their direction. Max shushes him while waving cheerily at their curious onlookers.

‘Oh, come now. Don’t play the sly fool. You agreed to it last night, don’t tell me you’re backing out now.’

Georg wracks his brains, but cannot for the life of him remember anyone fitting the baroness’s description or indeed any discussion of a yacht. But he does remember Max piling drink upon drink upon him and…

His eyes narrow. ‘This is another one of your little schemes, isn’t it? Come on, tell me the truth. God, this is your wartime escapades in Pola all over again.’

Max at least has the decency to look a little guilty. ‘Now, that is a very unfair comparison –’ Georg shoots him a glare and he backtracks. ‘But yes, you haven’t agreed to anything. Technically.’

‘Technically?’

His friend makes a show of being suddenly fascinated by the tablecloth. ‘Well, let’s just say I told Elsa that I asked you about it and you accepted. So, an acceptance in proxy?’

‘Max, you _really_ are the limit,’ comes the gritted reply. 

‘It’s only that you were going on about how much you wanted to get back to the sea, and imagine what a chance this will be. A _yacht_ , Georg, and she needs a captain.’

Georg waves his hand dismissively. ‘I’m no captain for hire.’

‘The yacht belonged to Elsa’s husband.’

‘Well, can’t he sail the thing then?’

‘That’s exactly it, he can’t because he’s dead. He was a navy man like us. Though much, much higher up… Vice-Admiral Schraeder, I believe.’

‘Ah.’ Georg recalls seeing the man at a passing-out parade not long before the war. Even then, the vice-admiral hadn’t appeared to be in the best of health. But there was only so much one could do for a war widow and sailing a yacht, in his case, wasn’t one of them.

‘I’m sorry, Max,’ begins Georg, rising. ‘Please pass my apologies to your friend and –’

A sophisticated, airy voice interrupts him. ‘Oh dear, I hope I’m not too late, am I?’


	4. Chapter 4

It is early morning but with the sky outside – stark, inky, disorientating – it might just as well be night. It isn’t though, thinks Friedrich, and the fact that they were all huddled in the dining hall says as much. Many of his classmates aren’t quite awake yet, taking their breakfast in muted voices, while the table next to them are occupied by their seniors, alert, focused, and frantically scribbling last-minute additions to their schoolwork.

Friedrich, munching thoughtfully at his jam and bread, is somewhere in between. This morning, he’s scored a small victory by securing a place nearest the fireplace and the warmth of the fire at his back is lulling him back to sleep. Just as his eyes are in danger of closing, the sound of coals pouring into the grate behind him – an attendant with another pail to keep the flames perpetually alight in this frigid weather – jolts him awake. 

The lapse, however, is enough to send his piece of bread tumbling to the floor. Annoyed, he refreshes his plate from the large pile in the centre of the table, taking the opportunity to sneak one (or two) into his pocket. Frau Schmidt’s stern but kindly face emerges unbidden in his mind’s eye: _‘Now, Friedrich, what have we said about filling your pockets with crumbs?’_ What was she doing now, he wonders. 

And, more pressingly, he wonders where his sister is. Mild worry creases his brow as he glances at the empty space beside him and he looks up and down the table for any sign of her…

‘Friedrich! Friedrich!’ 

‘Liesl!’ His relief is palpable as she bounds up the hall. ‘I’ve saved you a plate.’

‘Thank you.’ To his slight disappointment, Liesl pushes her plate aside and sets down a freshly-opened envelope on the table instead. ‘We’ve got a letter.’

Friedrich reaches for his tea in disinterest. ‘I don’t like reading.’

Her eyes gleam. ‘Silly, it’s a letter from Papa!’ 

Breakfast is promptly forgotten and he scoots up close. ‘Let me see!’ 

‘Who likes reading now?’ grins Liesl.

Friedrich rolls his eyes. ‘Can we read it, please?’

They lean in, eagerly taking in their father’s clear and steady hand:

_Genoa, 20 November 1921_

_Dear Liesl and Friedrich,_

_I wanted to tell you sooner how much I enjoyed your last letter and also how proud I am that you are both settling in so well. You were so very brave leaving Aigen behind and I want you to remember that I have not forgotten my promise that we will be there together soon._

_Since I last wrote to you from Vienna, a great many things have happened and which might explain my late reply. Knowing what a keen eye you have, Liesl, perhaps you have already noticed the new postmark on the envelope – and before you ask your sister, Friedrich, yes, you may have the stamps for your collection._

_No doubt you are wondering what I am doing in Genoa and, to tell the truth, I cannot quite believe I am here myself. Uncle Max tells me that he has written you a letter saying that the Pope invited me here_. _That, of course, is all very exciting but also very untrue (for one thing, the Pope lives in the Vatican – which I hope you remember from your lessons!)._

_But returning to Uncle Max and the reason I am here. A friend of his asked me to sail her yacht from Bremerhaven all the way to Genoa. The sea was a little rough and the journey a challenge, but it gave me plenty of time to think. It also brought back many memories, especially ones of when you were both very small and when we all still lived in Pola and had a small boat of our own. Perhaps you might remember… or perhaps you might not. One day, I hope, we can relive those days again._

_We were planning to return to Austria this week, but so far the weather has neither been kind nor inviting. The city, however, is full of life and the seagulls here are very bold – only the other day I had a duel with one at dinner. How you would have laughed, my children, at your Papa fighting a bird over a plate of pansotti…_

_I will try my best to be back in time for Christmas. Please continue to send your letters to Frau Schmidt, that way I can be sure that I will receive them safe and sound._

_Your loving Papa_

They stare at the page for a while longer. Friedrich turns to his sister, though not before discreetly pocketing the stamped envelope.

‘Where’s Genoa?’

* * *

From her vantage point in the corridor, Maria observes them, unseen. A walk around the school before dinner had been her intention, an attempt to clear her head after a draining day of classes. But she hadn’t expected to find anyone left in the classrooms, much less Liesl and Friedrich trying to navigate around an oversized map in the geography master’s room. She is tempted to leave them to it, but the biting cold – and her curiosity – forces her inside.

‘Now, what are you two doing there so secretly?’ she says, a smile in her voice.

‘Oh, hello, Fräulein Maria,’ says Liesl brightly. She lets go of the map.

‘Liesl, no –’ squeaks Friedrich. But it is too late, and to their horror, the map slides noisily off the table. 

Maria laughs. ‘Here, let me help you.’ 

In the light afforded by a nearby lamp, the object of their interest becomes clear. ‘A map of Europe?’

‘Yes, we’re wondering where Genoa is. And Brem –’ Friedrich stutters on the last word.

‘Bremerhaven,’ finishes Liesl.

Maria glances amusedly between them. ‘Well, I’m sure Herr Leutner could say more if he was with us, but one thing I do know is that they are very famous ports. All the way up here in Germany is Bremerhaven.’ Their gazes follow Maria’s finger on the map. ‘And Genoa is here, down in Italy. But why all this sudden interest? Has Herr Leutner set you a test?’

‘Papa’s written to us,’ explains Friedrich proudly. ‘He’s in Genoa.’ He seems equally proud at having learnt a new word.

‘I have heard it _is_ rather beautiful.’ 

‘Is it?’ sighs Liesl. ‘I wish we could be there, too. There are so many places I wish we could go. Have you travelled much, Fräulein Maria?’

She shakes her head. ‘Not as much as you think, Liesl.’

‘Could you show us where you’ve been? On the map?’

‘Yes, please!’ says Friedrich.

‘Well…’

They watch her attentively as she charts out a path. ‘I was born here in Vienna. Actually, no, that’s not quite right, rather I was born _on_ the train to Vienna.’

The children are delighted. ‘On a train? Really?’

Maria can’t help smiling to herself; the reaction to her less-than-conventional entry to the world was universal, no matter how many times she tells the story. ‘Yes, really. So, you could say I was a born traveller.’

‘Then you’d know all about Vienna,’ observes Liesl. ‘Papa was there last month. He says that the people there are very proud.’ She says this so artlessly that it is impossible to be offended.

Maria chuckles. ‘I’ve been told that several times on several occasions. All, coincidentally, by the same person…’ Her voice trails off but, just as quickly, she picks herself up. ‘Then again, I always say it’s difficult _not_ to be proud when it is the capital, after all. But hopefully, children, you don’t think of me in that way?’

Realisation belatedly dawns on Liesl’s face. ‘Oh, no, not at all! I’m sorry if –’

Maria touches her shoulder warmly. ‘Don’t worry, I know you were only repeating what your father said.’

She presses on with the rest of her early life and with the aid of the map, it seems easy enough. But the longer she goes on, the more Liesl and Friedrich’s rapt faces constantly threaten to blur into one. Maria pushes back, endeavouring to anchor herself by them instead. However, the past is insistent, unrelenting and before long, the room recedes and she is nineteen once more…

_‘Vienna wouldn’t have me even if it begged me to.’_

_The words are tossed out carelessly, arrogantly, but Maria knows better than to take them at face value. Especially given how Georg’s eyes are shining with barely repressed mirth. She marvels again at how blue they are, bluer even than the Salzach flowing right beside them._

_‘No,’ he continues, ‘not when I’m too busy being yours instead. My proud Viennese Herzerl.’_

_Oh, he could be quite outrageous when the mood took him. That was one of the things she found most surprising about him. And what she loved, too._

_‘I am not proud, Georg.’ She tugs playfully at his forearm. ‘Don’t be silly.’_

_He covers her hand with his own. ‘You are when you’re on my arm, Maria. Ah, don’t try to deny it, you’re blushing!’_

_‘Oh, very well,’ she concedes, smiling. ‘But the country means as much to me as the sea does to you. That, and the fact that I’m as common as the rest of them. No Viennese airs for me, the Untersberg is my real home.’_

_‘Hmm, of course. And what about that abbey of yours? Are you still planning to visit it tomorrow?’_

_‘Well, Lieutenant,’ she says, taking the opportunity to brush a piece of lint off his uniformed shoulder. ‘You can’t possibly visit Salzburg in May without hearing the nuns sing Maiandacht.’_

_‘Am I to be converted?’ he jokes before the words dry up in his throat. With the way she’s looking at him, he can’t possibly refuse. No man ever could. ‘I’ll take your word for it, Maria.’_

‘Fräulein Maria?’ A girl’s voice is echoing in her ear, as if at some distance. ‘Are you all right?’

Maria blinks and just like that, the world snaps back into focus. She vaguely registers two pairs of eyes staring up at her. 

‘Oh dear,’ she laughs weakly as mortification and confusion take turns to wash over her. ‘I seem to have wandered off.’

‘Are you all right?’ repeats Liesl. ‘Maybe you’d like one of us to get a glass of water?’

‘Thank you, Liesl, but I should be fine. I must have dried up.’ A wan smile. ‘Believe it or not, we teachers sometimes do that, you know. It’s – it’s been a long day.’

Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Liesl mouth “do something” to her brother and Maria shrivels up in embarrassment. Spurred into action, Friedrich reaches into his pocket. 

‘Look, Fräulein Maria. I got some Italian stamps and… _oh_.’ His expression is heartbreakingly stricken.

‘What is it, Friedrich?’

‘I’ve lost it! I’ve lost Papa’s envelope.’ Tears prickle at the corner of his eyes as he frantically searches for it. ‘Oh, he will be so angry.’

‘Would he be?’ asks Maria in concern.

‘No, he wouldn’t,’ assures Liesl, wrapping an arm around her brother’s quivering shoulders. ‘Come on, Friedrich, you know he wouldn’t. Papa is quick to anger, but he would never get mad over something like this.’

Maria hugs them both. As awful as she feels for Friedrich, she is grateful for the distraction. Looking after others has always been easier than caring for herself. It demands less introspection and less soul-searching, both of which she has done for longer than she likes to admit.

‘What a fine state we’re all in,’ she says once Friedrich’s tears subside. ‘The cold must be getting to us. But I know of something which will cheer us right up. Chocolate!’

‘Chocolate? But we aren’t allowed it at dinner.’

‘That’s very true, Friedrich. But there isn’t a rule about teachers not being allowed to have a stash of it in the classroom,’ she winks. ‘Come with me, children.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone's wondering about the endearment Georg uses: "Herzerl" = the Austrian twist on the German "Herzlein", meaning "little heart". :)
> 
> Bonus historical trivia: Georg von Trapp was really once hired to sail a yacht from Bremerhaven to Genoa; only in real life, it belonged to an American called Mr Hankey. Agathe von Trapp writes in her autobiography, _Memories before and after The Sound of Music_ : "He asked Papa to consider sailing this yacht [...] as a hired captain. Papa became interested in this venture since sailing was his speciality. He also saw it as a way to enjoy being at sea again, using his skills of sailing unfamiliar waters. This request presented a wonderful challenge and [...] he took the job." And after several weeks, he was back home at Aigen (which really is what fic!Georg here should be doing XD).
> 
> Fervent apologies in advance if anyone (or indeed everyone) seems out of character here, my mind seems to be all over the place these days!


End file.
